Chapter Text
Especially for you.
Growing up, your life was always featured in the tabloids almost every other week, whether or not you wanted it to be.
If it wasn’t you plastered across the papers, then it was your brother’s picture.
It didn’t matter if the story was true or false, the media never failed to print something about you both.
That was why your life now was so refreshing.
So distant from the world you grew up in and yet it felt familiar.
Most people might not agree with this, but at least for you there was a certain comfort you found in the busy halls of the emergency department.
A controlled chaos.
Unpredictable.
Like a living animal, there was a rhythm to it all. Its pounding heart was the movement of all those who worked here, flowing throughout the halls from one patient to the next.
As soon as one was discharged another was admitted.
Rinse and repeat.
Scrubbing your hands, you push to move on to the next patient. To save the next person.
It was never ending.
And it was never quiet for long.
You supposed that was why you loved it. You were a part of something bigger than yourself. Making a difference in a way that was different from your old life.
The Pitt was similar to home in many ways. Chaotic, unpredictable, and loud.
But it was different in all the ways that mattered.
One of the most important differences being that no one knew who you were.
Or at least, no one knew who the tabloids had painted you out to be.
Here you were just you.
A skilled and respected doctor,
Calm and collected under pressure,
Reassuring and clear with patients,
Swift and light on your feet.
Dr Y/N Wayne Austen
Here you were the doctor you had worked so hard to be.
Here you aren’t known as the person those media outlets had tried so hard to paint you to be.
You were not automatically assumed to be an entitled heiress, or a socialite of leisure, or an aloof young woman.
While not all articles about you over the years were bad. Many of them sought you out as an easy target. Someone who represented all that was wrong with wealth.
Never looking further than the facade they viewed. Than the shallow perspective they perceived of you.
That was why you had moved. At least, it was part of the reason….
Trading in your sparkly diamonds and silk satin gowns for scrubs and stethoscopes.
Now you were just another face in the crowd. A clog in the machine, helping it tick along.
Well.
Maybe you were a little more than just that.
As part of the Emergency Department during just over the past 2 years you had developed strong friendships with your colleagues.
Always ready to be a guiding hand or provide a helpful piece of advice to new residents and interns.
Bringing in fresh cookies at least once a week for the staff to enjoy. Something in which the nurses greatly appreciated.
You were vital with your quick thinking during the Pittfest mass casualty, moving between patients rapidly and concisely. You wish it wasn’t the case, but your life back home had prepared you for times like these.
Your home city was no stranger to mass casualty events. So you were well equipped with improvising and working within your means in times of stress.
Making yourself an integral part of the Pitt.
It may or may not have been a perk of the job being able to work with Dr Michael Robinavitch, better known as Dr Robby. Your eyes never failed to drift towards him, unknowingly searching for him.
There was something captivating about him.
Your attraction to him built slowly over the years, never tipping beyond the point of unprofessionalism.
Just teetering by the line.
A line you so wanted to cross, but didn’t dare to.
Afraid to be hurt once again.
To let someone into your life.
To be vulnerable and let them have the ability to have power over your heart. It was something you were afraid of giving up.
Afraid of being exposed. At the risk of allowing him to see all the worst parts of you that you worked so hard to bury beneath your steely veneer.
Afraid that you might love him.
…Maybe one day...
But for now that was something that would have to wait.
“Dr Austen, thank you again.” The young woman before you, Sierra, gently held your hands, eyes full of gratitude.
“Of course, I’m just doing my job. Remember what we spoke about, take it easy for the next week, and come back in so we can reevaluate your labs just as a follow up,” You say, with a slight nod of your head.
Sometimes there were patients that made the job just a bit easier to deal with.
In a thankless job, it was nice to be acknowledged every now and again.
But there were other times, many times, where patients seemed to go out of their way to antagonise. Intentional or not. Fighting at every choice or decision. Consulting with articles they found online. Contesting your advice at every turn.
It came with the territory.
And you couldn’t blame most of them for feeling anxious and angered by long wait times. While you appreciated informed patients, it became problematic when it was backed by baseless arguments.
It certainly never made it easier to work with.
“Fuck you bitch! I’d like another opinion and would like a doctor. A real one!” the overbearing man, Zach, yelled. Spit practically flying through the air. Face swelling with anger. Sexism was definitely not something new in your field. “I just googled my symptoms and it said it could be bowel cancer!”
Great, three for three for enraged patients today. Was the thought that passed through your mind. It was barely halfway through your shift. And you’ve been called a bitch twice just for trying to do your job.
You straightened your shoulders, expression calm but stern.
Stepping in between the patient and Santos who was assisting you in the assessment. Allowing distance between you and the patient.
While you lift an arm just slightly, holding off on the other nurses and security who had rushed to you from the outburst.
“Sir, while I can allow another doctor to provide you with a second opinion. I can assure you that their diagnosis will result in the same conclusion as mine, which will not be bowel cancer. And as I have mentioned. I am a real doctor. Who has practiced medicine for a number of years, decades even. So, what are you wanting to do?”
Your calm demeanor and firm tone. A sense of control rolled off of you. Making the patient deflate, his shoulders drop. Lips pulled in a tight line.
His resigned stature, and lack of response led you to believe he was more than willing to trust your judgement now, at least partly.
The pause stretched out for a beat longer before you added.
“If you’re willing, we can proceed with your treatment. Unless you’d like another opinion, still?”
“We can proceed…doc” he says with a defeated reluctance to his tone.
You nod, as a polite smile forms upon your lips. Dropping your arms and stepping aside slightly to allow Santos to be in view of the patient again.
“Great, good call. Santos, let's get moving” you acknowledge, as Santos nods to your instructions.
It was only a few minutes later that Robby checked in on you,
“Hey, are you doing okay?” eyes furrowed in a way that made you know he cared, and truly listened, while he didn’t explicitly mention your previous patient, you knew what he meant.
You place a hand on his arm giving a slight squeeze in reassurance, “Robby, trust me. I’m all good, thanks for checking in.”
He gives you a small nod, not sure whether he fully trusts your words or not, but choosing to believe them regardless.
Holding on for just a beat longer than necessary, you let go of his arm before stepping away.
Watching as you walk away from him, giving a small shrug of your shoulders with a light laugh, “besides, I’ve told you that back home it was practically a daily occurrence to get yelled at by someone in the street. It takes a little more than that to scare me.”
He smiles at your joke, waving his hand at you, “get back to work. I’m sure there’s another 10 patients waiting for your expertise at this moment”
“20 actually,” you give a little wink before slipping away, off to treat another patient. Santos breaks off from you to assist another patient for a chance at a chest tube she comments as Whitaker takes her place with you.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Austen and this is Dr Whitaker, he’ll be assisting me today on your treatment,” you greet the woman, Sophie, as you and Whitaker step beside her.
On the other side of the bed, stands her sister, Marcia. Eyes panicked, holding her hand. “Is she going to be ok?”
“That’s what we’re here to do, and we’ll do everything we can to help” you reassure. Noting how Sophie seemed to be in a much calmer state.
You tilt your head prompting Whitaker to lead consultation, “So what are we here for today?”
“I honestly feel fine, Marcia here is just overly concerned,” Sophie says words steady,
“You were so not fine, you were practically shaking like a fish,” Marcia exclaimed. You grin at her remark, but note the concern laced within her tone.
Sophie shakes her head slightly, “I just slipped going down stairs and was a little out of it, but I feel fine now.”
“Give us a little time, just so we can make sure you’re definitely fine and then you’ll be on your way” you state. You and Whitaker begin going through the required tests, blood pressure, EKG, blood test, checking all the boxes to make sure she is clear.
“So you mentioned that you had hit your head when you fell, your notes also mentioned a black out lasting approximately a minute before you came to.” You list off, “is there anything else we should know about, perhaps a history of drinking or drugs? Anything of that nature?”
“No, none of that, well occasionally a drink when going out but nothing much more than that. Too expensive these days,” Sophie jokes.
“Ok well, what we’ll do is send you for a CT scan just to make sure there’s nothing more serious. Better to be safe than sorry.” You finalise.
“Hey I take it you’re not a Pittsburgh local? Where’s that accent from?” Marcia asks curiously,
“Really, Marcia? Let the doctors go do their work. They’ve got plenty of other people to see, beside answering your inane questions,” Sophie tries to sway her sister.
You give a little shake of your head letting Sophie know you were ok with her sister’s questions, “you’re very perceptive, I’m actually from Gotham”
It wasn’t really something you shared often. Only answered if asked.
This new information caused all three of the people before you to snap their heads to you. Eyes widening slightly from your words.
“The Gotham City?”
“The city with all the crazies?”
“Have you ever met Batman?”
A flood of questions get thrown at you, “yes believe it or not I’m from Gotham, and statistically yes it could be described as a city full of crazies, and yes I have met Batman, and before you ask yes he is that broody in person. Is that all?”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Now that is a very long story, which we unfortunately don’t have time for. Just rest easy, flag us down if anything changes, if there's any nausea, headaches, anything like that at all. But after the CT results we should have a better understanding on the severity of the bump on your head.” You state politely, not wanting to talk any further about your home city.
As you and Whitaker continue to walk away from the two, Santos and Javadi fall into step with you, as they look at you with curiosity.
Santos had one of those cheshire grins she often wore when about to tease someone, whilst Javadi had a little nervous energy around her, much like Whitaker’s sheepishness.
You had a feeling that the other two had overheard your little conversation.
Whitaker hesitates for a moment as if a little wary asking you, “is it true that you met Batman?”
You glance at him briefly, “really Whitaker? Do you take me for a liar?” you allow your Gotham accent to seep in and become a little stronger for effect, before slipping back to your typical speech. They weren’t familiar enough to realise that her tone, her inflections were just a bit too polished to be a standard Gotham accent.
“No, no, no, no, I would never accuse you of that. I just –” he waves his arms, panicked, While Santos laughs at his antics.
“It’s alright Whitaker, no need to become jittery. And yes, I have actually met Batman,” you say with a kind smile bearing no illwill, emphasizing ‘actually’.
It always amused you how much non-Gothamites were fascinated by Batman. Maybe you’d just gotten used to the bizarre nightlife of Gotham. More so than others…
All their eyes widen, a little in awe of you, as Santos comments “woah, that’s so cool”
“I suppose” you watch as it seems they begin to connect the dots, “hard to call yourself a Gothamite without meeting at least one bat vigilante, especially for how long I lived there”
“So does that mean you did your medical training in Gotham?” Javadi probed.
“Yeah. Most of my younger years were there, before I moved to Central City, then Metropolis and now Pittsburgh. It all feels like a lifetime ago now though” your mind briefly glosses back over your younger days running around hospitals following the orders of your seniors, learning all that you could, endless hours, difficult patients and grateful families.
Not much different from now.
Except for the fact that now, you were the teacher.
“You must’ve seen some crazy stuff?” Santos asks, trying to learn more, you couldn’t quite blame their curiosity. It wasn’t exactly something you talked about often.
Gotham always was a bit of a hot topic among those who didn’t live there.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you say with an air of confidence before slipping to one of slight sadness, ”Things I certainly hope that you all don’t ever have to witness.”
“Was living there what made you go into medicine?” Whitaker asked.
“Partly...My dad was a doctor. So it felt right. And my parents died when I was young, so maybe I just wanted to prevent that from happening to anyone else." you explained vaguely. Watching as they nodded along to your story, eyes a little downcast at your news.
“Sorr–” Javadi began to say, stopping as you placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Ah. No sorry necessary. It was a long time ago,” You state, you had come to grips with your parent’s death many years ago. Pity was not something you searched for.
“Austen, I’ve got the ultrasound machine that you asked for,” Princess calls out to you, cutting your conversation short.
“You are a godsend Princess, thank you!”
“Just keep bringing in those cookies and we’ll call it even”
“Ok Whitaker, let’s move to our patient, Miss Wallace. And I’m sure you two have other patients to attend to” you direct, whilst rubbing your hands together with a splash of disinfectant, its scent familiar and comforting.
You send the other two a pointed look. Before they wave a brief see you later as they head off.
That was just the way it worked around the Pitt.